as if your fingers still

could leave their mark

upon the polished wood

as if your breath could

fog the glass   as if

your massive frame

could somehow

crowd the room

     you came again last night   

softening to her side    your voice

caressed the texture of her name

     night escapes

morning shows her corners empty

like your place beside her

in the bed

the day is long and filled

with unkept promises

   by the couch a table bears

the scar burned

by your cigarette     the chair

is stained from where your head

lay for so long     the closet

closes on your scent

~Susan A. Katz

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